"The Hatchet is ticked," Sideswipe intoned gleefully.

Naturally, it was the Lamborghini twins who decided to inform Jazz of the awaiting doom. The third-in-command of the Autobots scowled at them.

"Don't you two have somethin' better to do than antagonize a doomed mech?" Jazz demanded. His visor glinted threateningly at the duo, a warning of what was to come if they didn't leave him to ponder his doom in peace. While he could tolerate, and enjoyed the company of, the twin terrors on most days, he was in no mood to deal with them when the threat of being at the Hatchet's doom was looming overhead.

It made Jazz wonder if perhaps Soundwave could help him escape the medic - but of course, that wasn't something he was willing to experiment with. He had no doubt that, under the circumstances that his relationship with the Deceipticon third-in-command was discovered, there would be quite a lot of questioning. He'd likely spend time in the brig as well - the Autobots really couldn't afford to take chances. Jazz, however, didn't mix business with pleasure, and neither did Soundwave. They'd been bonded before the war, and unless one or both of them died in it, they'd be bonded after.

Thoughts of death weren't helping matters any, and as the twins cleared out, Jazz began to formulate a plan of action.

Ratchet would definitely disassemble Jazz if he caught him after this, but the plan was for him to not catch Jazz until it was all over. The saboteur crept along the hallway. He could sneak past the infirmary and stir up some sort of trouble that would definitely distract the Hatchet, and then make an escape to... anywhere without Ratchet.

Unfortunately, the med-bay doors were open, and Ratchet spotted Jazz mid-sneak.

"Going somewhere, Jazz?"

Jazz made a break for it, tearing down the corridor as quickly as he could. Transforming and rolling for it was forgotten as he listened to Ratchet's thundering pedes behind him; if he didn't escape soon, he was sure he'd receive a wrench to the back of the head. No bot in his right mind wanted that. Jazz turned a corner and raced past the offices, nearly plowing over Prowl as he thundered past the surprised Tactician who had only barely emerged from his office.

Ratchet, however, was not so graceful as Jazz, and failed to evade collision. From the slam-crash-groan behind him, Jazz could tell Ratchet and Prowl would be occupied for a while - Prowl had probably landed on one of his sensitive doorwings, and while Jazz did feel guilty, he considered it the survival of the fittest, and Prowl was collateral damage. (He'd never, ever, ever admit to thinking that.)

Now, Jazz was no fool. He knew Ratchet would come after him again, or send someone else after him. The best thing for Jazz to do would be occupy as many Autobots as he could so that there would be a limited number of forces for Ratchet's search parties.

With this in mind, he slipped into the security office. "Say, Red Alert, have ya seen Lazerbeak? I just saw 'im come this way. With Blaster," he added, and though he felt bad for doing this to his boombox buddy, he continued on. "Maybe 'e's adopted one of Soundwave's cassettes."

All Jazz had to do from there was stand back and watch the chaos unfold - Red Alert tore down the corridor faster than Jazz could say Jazz.

With a mischievous chuckle, Jazz slipped out of the room and continued on down the hall. So maybe Blaster would spend a few hours in the brig until Red Alert was convinced that the bot wasn't involved with Lazerbeak, but no true harm would be done to him.

These thoughts were cut off by Ironhide emerging from his quarters. A wicked glint passed over Jazz's visor as he realized that Ironhide would be an easy victim - fresh out of recharge, Ironhide was the most susceptible to pranks of the cruel-sparked. In other words, Jazz.

"Hey, Ironhide!" he shouted. The old warrior nearly jumped out of his sheet metal - Jazz had to force himself not to laugh at that. "Th' 'cons broke inta Prime's office! He needs yer help!"

Ah, poor, poor Ironhide. Since he was, as a human might say, "not woke yet", the weapons specialist never even paused to wonder why Jazz hadn't helped their leader deal with the Deceipticons, or how, for that matter, the aforementioned Deceipticons even got in the base in the first place.

With a quiet chuckle, Jazz continued down the hall. He'd leave this mess for Optimus to sort out as soon as he convinced Ironhide that he had never been in any danger.